Positive
by lollercakes
Summary: Life comes hard and fast but some places make a difference in whether life spins you out or you're able to hold on. When Prim is diagnosed with HIV, Katniss comes home to help her keep things together, reaching out for the help from 'Positive', a community resource centre and a home she never knew existed. AU look at the realities of HIV/AIDS and its stigma.
1. Chapter 1

It doesn't have a clinical smell like I expected. In fact, there's nothing clinical at all about 'Posi+ive', the HIV/AIDS support centre that I've just walked into. No – instead the place looks comfortable, filled with lounge furniture and open spaces with offices off to the side and coffee, snacks, and resources spread throughout.

I can see Prim being comfortable here. I hope, at least.

"Hi! Can I help you?" The voice startles me as I stand in the doorway to the centre - though it probably shouldn't - I'm taken off guard by the high pitch and the assault on my senses that is the woman's attire. It takes me a moment to orient myself to her expectant look.

"I – uh, hi?" I stutter, gripping my hands around the pamphlets I have. My eyes flicker over the woman's shoulder and catch on the striking blue eyes that stare at me from behind the reception desk. Inadvertently my stomach flutters and I have to look away at the ground and avoid both of these people. "Sorry." I mumble and step backwards towards the door.

I'm ready to run. I thought I could do this today – I thought I was ready to help, but being here in this place, knowing what it represents, is getting inside too fast. My feet are carrying me to the door as I stumble through more apologies before hearing the ring of the bell as I slip back onto the street. I make it a block before my body shudders and the tears rush to my eyes and I'm forced to lean against a building for support.

That's where the man from behind the reception desk finds me with my head pressed to the cold brick and my jacket wrapped up around my ears. I don't hear him for the first minute that I assume he's talking to me – too caught up in my own head to notice. But when he taps my shoulder and hands me another pamphlet (that makes five in my hands today alone) I take it willingly and mumble a quiet "Thanks".

"Look, I know it's hard and Effie can scare you off at first, but if you give it a shot, you'll find what you're looking for here," He continues and I finally look up from my hands full of paper to meet his gaze. He's smiling, bright and wide, as his blue eyes sparkle in the cool spring air. He's not wearing a coat – that's foolish of him.

I watch as the smile slips just a little and I realize that I've said it out loud. "Dammit – sorry. I'm not your mother. Just, it's cold out. Why are you out here?" I question, finally wording what I don't particularly understand about why he would chase the crazy girl down the street.

"Because I know what it's like to come face to face with it all and I wanted you to have someplace safe to come. Everyone needs somewhere safe." He pauses and I see him look across the street to the sputtering traffic passing us by. When he looks back, he extends his hand towards me and the smile is back in full force. "I'm Peeta."

It's now or never, I can't help but think. Despite the way my hands are shaking and the sour taste in my mouth, I know that I need to do this for Prim. We need to find her the best support system, the best people, to help us get through these first few months because surely I won't be enough and Mum won't do anything.

"Katniss – I'm Katniss." I murmur and he smiles even wider, if that were possible. My stomach flutters again at the sight of it and I bite my lip to bring me back to ground level.

"Well Katniss, are you going to come back so I can give you the tour or has Effie really scared you off?" He jokes brightly. Shifting on my feet I look at my car down the road and back at the centre up the block before taking in the pamphlets in my hand.

I can't do this alone.

"Let's go take a look."

* * *

_AN: So, here it is, a little glimpse at the next bit I'm working on. It might be slow to come but I'm trying to get back in the groove of writing frequently. Hopefully you'll be interested. On a special note, I'm not a doctor, I'm not even in the medical field, this story is being written by someone who has not experienced HIV but has worked within volunteer organizations involved in sexuality and HIV/AIDS awareness. I am not perfect, but I want to address the subject matter honestly and hopefully respectfully while giving you guys something worth reading. If you have facts, ideas, concerns, please please please contact me to discuss them._


	2. Chapter 2

The warmth of the centre immediately washes over me as we step through the doors and I shiver as the cool air leaves my skin. I'm struck again by how welcoming it is and how the walls are covered with positive images and posters of acceptance. The front desk area itself is more formal hosting a computer, stacks of paper and an area filled with waiting-room style chairs.

"Now, you've already seen the front office – how about we start with the resource room?" Peeta starts, motioning with his hand towards a room off to the left of the hallway. I struggle momentarily to remove my scarf and jacket while still holding the pamphlets before I drop them all and let out an exasperated groan. Peeta only laughs lightly and takes my jacket from me, hanging it up in the front while I collect my papers. "Don't worry – it's okay to be overwhelmed at first. I have that effect on people."

Another joke. I can't help but snort a laugh.

"Good. Laughter. That's a good sign. Okay, so-" He leads me into a large room that's lined with bookcases and cupboards and open wooden desks with plastic chairs. Each desk features a canister of craft supplies and a packet of markers. "This is the resource room where we do practically everything. Informational pamphlets are over here, reading materials are here," He points out the row of bookcases that feature a huge variety of literature on not only HIV and AIDS but other STIs as well. "Over in this area," he pauses as he opens a cupboard door to reveal stacks upon stacks of plastic bins. "Is where we have our needle exchange kits. If you need them, you just come and grab it – Used materials go here but we don't allow using on the property, just so you know."

"Oh – no. No." I state and hold up my hands backing away from the cupboard. "It's not like that!" I insist and look at him with my eyes wide. Peeta only shrugs.

"That's fine – we're a judgement free place. Just want to show you your options is all," he explains and moves on to the next cupboard after closing the first one with a click. "This one here is a pretty popular one – pet supplies. If you need anything, try finding it here first. We get a lot of donations for this project as it's the first and only one in the city."

I nod my head, taking in the idea but not completely understanding why this place would have a pet supply cabinet. Peeta must notice the look of confusion on my face because he smiles and pulls out a dog's chew toy which he squeezes quickly, eliciting the sharp noise.

"Animals are sometimes the only relationships people with positive status can keep. Social stigmas and fear create a lot of barriers. That coupled with the financial difficulties – it's good to have a place where people can get food for their best friend, even if they can't afford it, you know?" Placing the toy back on the shelf, Peeta shuts the cabinet door as I'm digesting his explanation.

It seems so simple – such a positive way to look at a hard situation. The idea of a pet cupboard is beyond thoughtful but it's not that that makes my chest tighten. It's the other factors he mentioned – the hard situations that Prim is going to face in the coming months. The coming years. He sees it on my face – I know because he mirrors the sad look for just a second – before he moves me back out into the hallway.

"Down here," he starts again, thankfully disregarding my reaction. "We have the offices. Regional and district volunteers work out of here – you can talk to them anytime you need to. If you want to make appointments or need references, you can set up times with reception. They're varied but these guys know what's up – social services, government programs, workplace issues – you name it, they can help. I'd recommend Haymitch Abernathy if you can get past the attitude."

Stepping down a bit further Peeta leads me into the open space I saw when I first stepped through the doors. The room is twice the size of the resource space and filled with more book shelves, a flat screen TV, refreshments near the back and more couches and comfortable chairs than a Leon's. Though the space is empty, I can just imagine what this place must look like on the counselling nights that Prim's doctor, Andrew Cinna, mentioned during our briefing.

"It's not much," Peeta starts as he turns back to face me. I hold up my hand and step past him into the room, taking a moment to look at the tiles filled with drawings on the walls and a large piece of fabric that covers a whole wall.

"It's perfect," I whisper and stand, stoic, in the middle of the room.

Peeta doesn't say any more as I let myself come to terms with the idea of spending a lot of time here. Though the thought is terrifying and reality shaking, I know that it's for the best. I know that Prim will love it and that she'll benefit from this. Because Prim needs people and the most terrifying thing about her being sick, apart from what she's sick with, is that she'll lose that spark.

I couldn't bear to see her lose that.

Peeta leaves me to wander through the space for a little, offering apologies when the phone at the front desk rings. I'm thankful for it, at least, to get a moment to let it all settle without the flurry that he causes in me when he's near.

When I finally make my way back out to the front, he's sitting in front of the computer screen and typing away with a thick-rimmed pair of glasses on. His hair is mussed and his brow is furrowed as he navigates through the system. Noticing I'm there, the frown dissipates and he smiles again, shifting his glasses off his face and looking up at me.

"Will we see you again, Katniss?" He asks hopefully and I can't help but return the smile he shares.

"I think so. Just gotta convince one other person..." I mumble and although that's my perfect chance to exit, my feet don't seem to carry me away. Instead they stay rooted, hoping for more interaction with this blue-eyed man.

"Oh?" He counters and though the smile remains, his eyes shelter just a little. "Is it your boyfriend? We've got a great couples night on-" Pausing he flips through a calendar on the desk and I can't hold my laugh.

"No, no. Nope. Not a chance. My sister, Primrose. That's who I'm here for." I state and he looks up, meeting my eyes. I can't make out the look he's giving me now – it's a mixture of sadness, disappointment, and maybe a little admiration.

I don't understand it. But then I've never been very good at understanding people.

"Well, then I hope we see you soon. Here's our card – if you need anything, if she has questions, just give us a call, alright?" The kindness is there, but the brightness has disappeared. I nod, and slip the card in with the rest of my pamphlets.

"Thank you Peeta, for everything today." I don't stick around after that, instead making my way down the street to my car in record time. Once I'm in the driver's seat, buckled in with the radio blaring, I finally let my anger out and slam my fists on the steering wheel.

This was not supposed to happen. Not to my sweet Prim. She was too good – too smart – too safe. She'd never hurt a fly in her life and now _this_. What was worse was that now I was driving around looking for centres because she, like our mother, didn't want to get out of bed after bad news. I'd half-hoped when she called me, through my tears of course, that she would have it together. I mean, she was calling me and telling me after so long.

I'd left Prim here to go to school in Portland, Oregon. The other side of the country and what might as well have been the other side of the world. When Prim called me right after winter exams were over to tell me she'd tested positive for HIV, I'd been shell-shocked. She'd claimed she'd held off telling me until my exams were over because she wanted me to finish the year but that she'd found out in January. Her news had nearly killed me inside. I hadn't waited for her to tell me anymore – instead I'd opened my barely-working laptop and booked the soonest flight home that I could afford.

I left that night telling my roommate Madge to sell off whatever she didn't need and that I wouldn't be coming back for the foreseeable future. She'd been pissed, but I knew she'd be fine. Prim was more important.

When I'd gotten home, I'd discovered that Prim was living just as well as I'd left her, maybe even a little better with the money I'd sent back. Our small apartment was still barren but she'd added a few plants and a nice throw over the couch.

We'd sat on that couch and cried for the first few hours. Everything had seemed dreary, but almost like it was going to be alright.

That is until the next day when she did what she's done since I've gotten back – laid in bed and only moved to use the washroom. Since then, it's been like I've had to talk her into everything. Every meal, every shower, every doctor's appointment – all negotiated.

But I really shouldn't complain. This never should have happened. It was never in the cards. I guess it was luck of the draw. Prim was always so good – I couldn't understand how this had happened even though she told me she'd only went to get tested because an ex-boyfriend had contacted her and said she'd needed to. Turns out she'd likely had it for years – since just after I left – but she hadn't been showing symptoms.

Until now. Now that she knew, it was like her symptoms had blossomed overnight. Like she had the never-ending flu. Her doctor Cinna, who had been a lifeline in this storm, had said it was likely a combination of stress and the virus that was intensifying her situation. He'd recommended finding a support system and getting her mind past it and back into her normal life. A normal life for a young woman with HIV.

"How am I supposed to do that, Katniss?" Prim spat, finally sitting up in her bed and scowling at me. "How do I go back to my pre-med program and say 'Hey guys, my blood is toxic, can I operate on you?'" She was raging now, only hurting herself with her words. I stood in the doorway, dumbfounded with her discarded breakfast tray still in my hands. I'd only brought it up as a suggestion and now she was screaming.

I'd never seen my Prim like this.

It had been that episode that had made me call Cinna and ask for recommendations. Posi+ive had been my third stop the next day.

* * *

_AN:_ _I'm super excited to announce that I'll be working with Opaque, a reader well versed in the subject of HIV/AIDS care who is doing an amazing job at betaing this story for me so that it gets it right and, well, she corrects my horrendous tense problem too! I can't promise that updates will be this quick or regular, but I wanted to get this out as a thank you to all my celebrating readers on this American Thanksgiving (I know there's a lot of you!) Happy Turkey Day! And happy Hanukkah to all those celebrating this too! You're all amazing and the best, ily. _


	3. Chapter 3

"Prim," I call, opening her door to find her room dark. She is curled under the sheets again, small like I used to remember her being when we were young and nearly starving.

After Dad had died. When Mum had given up. Before I'd learned how to survive.

We are struggling to survive again now.

"Go away Katniss," Prim groans as she rolls over. I am tired of this treatment, of her blatant dismissal. I'd come back to help her, not to get shoved away at every opportunity. No, that's not going to happen.

Stepping into her room, I pad over to the bed until I am lying down behind her, wrapping my body around hers.

"It's going to be alright, Prim. It's not a death sentence anymore – I've done a lot of reading and there are medicines and treatments. You can still do everything you want to – everything, I promise." I pause knowing I can't really promise her everything but refusing to not give her that hope. I run my fingers through her hair; pushing it back from her face in the way our mother used to before she disappeared. "I've found this place. They have resources and people to help. They seem really nice and you can just go and hang out there, meet some people your own age. There's even a young adult night where they get together and do stuff around town. It could be good for you until you're ready to go back to school."

I feel her stiffen in my arms just before pulling away.

"I can't go back to school, Katniss. Are you a fool?" This seemed to always be our deal breaker. She can't even bear the idea of it. I try to hold in my sigh of frustration as she sits up, regarding me. "Have you ever met an HIV positive doctor? Have you ever met someone as stupid as me who's a doctor? No. Because doctor's know better. Doctor's –" Mimicking her, I sit up abruptly and pull her to me until her hands stop trying to push me away.

"Prim! You're not stupid!" I yell and feel my fingers digging into her back. I am desperate for her to understand this.

Though I'd only read half of what I had received from Cinna, I knew that Prim's biggest issue right now wouldn't be the illness. She'd suffer from her own mind and her own anger and I would have to be there for her and combat her own negative thoughts every step of the way.

"I love you Prim, but you're being so thick headed about this. You can do this, I know you can. I know it seems scary, that you're sick and that it doesn't look good right now, but you're the strongest person I know; you've got the heart and the head to fight this disease. Life happens and you need to move forward with it. If it's the last goddamn thing I do in this world I'm going to make sure you live it!" My voice is raw as I say it and I know it's because I'm still coming to terms with the fact that my baby sister is sick.

She knows it too.

"This wasn't supposed to happen, Katniss," she mumbles against me, her body seeming to collapse against my chest as the fighting stops. "I know now it wasn't real, but we were high school fools and it was good while it lasted. He promised that he was safe and everything. That we didn't need condoms because it was fine and there wasn't anyone else for him. I was so stupid to believe him. I'm so ashamed of how stupid I was to think it was okay. I _know_ better," she states, hiccupping as she hides her face. I let my arms wrap around her tighter as she explains how she'd fallen for her first boyfriend hard after I'd left for school. "I didn't even know until he called me to tell me I needed to get checked. Do you know how embarrassing that is to tell people I've been with since then? How horrible that makes me feel?"

"Prim, you didn't know. And you've been safe since then, right?" I question tentatively.

"Yeah, but _still_. What if? Anything could have happened. And I want to be a doctor, Katniss. That's what I've always wanted and now I can't even face it. Every time I think about it I think about how stupid I must have been to fall for the oldest trick in the book. It's rule number one: wear a condom, protect yourself. It's so preventable and I didn't do it and now I'm sick. It makes me a hypocrite!" she shouts with frustration as I try to understand. I take a moment to gather my thoughts, careful of what I say next.

"Can you listen to me for just a minute? Please?" I ask and hold her shoulders until she's able to meet my gaze. "You're not a hypocrite. You made a decision and it was a mistake. But it happens to people all the time and it doesn't make them stupid, or bad, or any less of a person. You can still be what you want to be, it just might be a little bit harder, okay? We'll get through this, you just need to believe we will." She doesn't respond to my words, her face only scrunching up as more tears come and she curls into me again.

I let her cry into my shirt, the frustrated sobs that wrack her body at my words. For the first time since I've come back it seems like she's heard me, that's she's finally realized that I'm here to stay and that we can get through this.

At least, that's what I hope for as I hold her close and try to keep the fears at bay.

* * *

It's two weeks before I'm able to convince Prim to go to the centre. Two long weeks of her slowly breaking out of her depression and finally coming around to getting back into life. I know it's not that easy – there's still so far to go – but it's a step I can't help but celebrate.

When we pull up to the curb and I put the car in park, I look over to see her watching out the window with disdain. She's looking at the centre with its barren signage and its cold brick exterior.

"This is the place?" She grumbles, fiddling with her purse in her lap.

"It's much better inside, I promise," I admit and open my door to get out. She slowly follows suit and waits until I'm standing beside her before we head down the sidewalk. "If you want to leave at any time, just say the word and we'll go, okay?" She nods and reaches for the door, surprising me by taking the lead.

Inside, the place is as brightly lit as I remember it but with a few extra decorations that weren't there before. Prim looks on with interest, a small smile playing at her lips as she takes in the feel of the place. My eyes don't leave her face until a familiar voice perks up from behind reception and I look over to see Peeta smiling widely at us.

"You're back! I was starting to give up hope," he states and makes his way out from behind the desk to greet us. "You must be Primrose. I'm Peeta." Prim looks at me with wide eyes, completely ignoring Peeta's outstretched hand.

"You told him about me?" She sneers and I scowl in return.

"I didn't tell him anything apart from your name," I bite back and turn a smile towards Peeta who has lowered his hand after our exchange.

"Well, I'm glad you could make it. Welcome!"

Peeta wastes no time in starting Prim's tour, showing her around the same areas that he first showed me. Prim seems particularly interested in the needle exchange, taking time to ask about its harm reduction studies as I cringe inwardly, still unable to come to terms with the idea. I'm trying to understand it, but it still makes me queasy.

While the two of them make their way around, I move to one of the waiting room chairs and settle in, perfectly okay with waiting at the front and people watching those who come and go. When I hear the now-rare spark of Prim's laughter, my excitement grows and I can't help the smile that lights up my face.

I'm still smiling when Prim and Peeta come back into the reception area and find me sitting with my legs crossed and my hands clasped tightly in my lap. I'm nervous, a little unsure as to whether this suggestion will actually work out for Prim or whether she'll slip back into her depression afterwards. When I look up and see the familiar smile on her lips, I nearly cry at the sight.

"This place is great, Katniss." She is near thrumming with energy as she says it, almost bouncing on her heels. "Peeta here runs the Outings Nights on Thursdays. He said you could come if you wanted; it's not just for those with positive status. Plus, you can hang out here too, if you want."

"Yeah – we welcome anyone from the community. It's incredibly important to have everyone's support system welcome here." Peeta adds as he rests his hands in his pockets. I can't help but notice that he seems at ease as he looks between Prim and I. "Prim mentioned she wanted to look at the books in the back – did you want to come back and hang out for a bit? It's probably more comfortable than these chairs."

I nod and join them in the back lounge area as Prim begins rifling through the bookcases and chatting openly with a woman wearing very few clothes for the temperature outside. Settling stiffly down on one of the checkered couches, Peeta joins me sitting in the opposite corner. I can't help but notice the way he watches me with an intensity that I can't quite place. I'm just about to ask him about it when he breaks the silence and seemingly snaps out of his gaze.

"We have volunteer training nights – if you wanted to participate in one. They help with a lot of the big questions and the issues that some people struggle with." Peeta states, always watching Prim out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm not struggling with anything," I reply brusquely and shift my body slightly away from him, only a little bit offended that he'd think I needed some information session. I feel him more than hear him shift a little closer.

"I'm not saying that. I'm saying it's there – if you want it. People say it helps. Especially-" I cut him off, not wanting to hear about my inadequacies anymore.

"What's that?" I ask instead, motioning towards the large fabric design on the wall. Next to me Peeta sucks in a breath.

"That's our part of the AIDS Memorial Quilt. Do you know what that is?" He asks quietly, getting to his feet and walking over to where it's fastened to the wall. I follow him slowly, curious and a little drawn to him.

"I think so?" I say questioningly, hoping he'll explain as I draw my finger along the design. He doesn't disappoint.

"It started in San Francisco. There are literally thousands of these pieces in some storage room somewhere and sometimes they display them all at the same time. Covered the National Mall in Washington once. It's to memorialize and celebrate those who've died in some way or another because of AIDS." Peeta recites almost reverently.

"That's beautiful," I whisper quietly and observe the multiple panels stitched together, each with their own design.

"There's still a lot of beauty in this world." Peeta adds more quietly and when I look at him, he's staring at me with a look that makes the blood pound in my ears.

"Yo, Peet!" The voice calls out from the front of the office and a tall man with copper hair pokes his head down the hallway. "What's up?" He calls out and steps into the room. Seemingly hesitant that he's interrupting, the man pauses and looks between Prim and I. It just registers that my cheeks are flaming from the incident before and so I look away as Peeta steps towards the man.

"Finnick, awesome that you're here. This is Prim, and her sister Katniss." Peeta introduces us and Finnick bounds into the room to shake both of our hands. He smiles widely and I'd bet he'd waggle his eyebrows if this were any place other than the centre.

"Ladies, pleasure to meet you. Will we be seeing you around?" Finnick asks, rubbing his hands together.

"Probably. Katniss, Prim – this is Finnick. He's one of the outreach volunteers for the centre. He handles public relations and booths when we're called out to resource fairs and stuff. You'll probably see him around more than you'd like," Peeta jokes and Finnick turns and punches him lightly in the ribs.

"Hey – don't give them a bad impression already!" He bemoans and turns back to face us. "If you don't mind, I'm going to steal this guy here for a moment? Centre business to sort out," Finnick announces and pulls Peeta into one of the offices off the hallway. I can somewhat hear the hushed voices from inside the room before Prim declares that she's found what she's looking for and that she's ready to go.

We don't wait around to say goodbye before we step out the door to go and get some lunch.

* * *

_AN: Another huge crazy big thanks to Opaque who's helping me with beta'ing this story. Trust me when I say that she's making it ten times better than it was. Updates will come as they come, I'm dealing with a crazy cold right now and two jobs so I'm trying to juggle everything but if you want to come hang out, I'm lollercakesff on Tumblr! Much love._


	4. Chapter 4

"Look, I know you don't cover pre-existing conditions, but this isn't pre-existing. It's –" I state into the phone only to be interrupted by the woman on the other end. She drones on about the insurance policies surrounding Prim's anti-retroviral medications and how Prim's health care coverage is limited to recent illnesses.

No matter how many times I tell her it _is_ recent, the woman keeps reverting back to the time of transmission.

I'm not getting anywhere.

"She's sick – what don't you heartless fuckers understand!?" I shout, my burst of anger finally breaking through. I click the end button on my phone before tossing it across the room and watching it hit the floor with a thump.

Ever since her diagnosis, Prim's insurance has been giving her the run around. Her regimen treatments cost a over fifteen hundred dollars a month and if we don't get it settled soon Prim won't have any school money left from Dad even if I can convince her to go back. The idea kills me inside. And honestly makes me want to murder someone.

I'm only glad she isn't around to see me crack. Thankfully, Prim is out at her first afternoon session at the centre where she is meeting with some of the other women to learn about things that she can possibly expect. She invited me to come but after my last interaction with the too-good-looking Peeta receptionist, I decided to make my attendance there minimal. There is no way I am going to let something like that interfere with Prim's happiness.

Just as I'm pulling lasagna out from the stove for dinner I'm greeted by Prim's shout from the doorway. I can tell immediately that she's in a good mood by the way she instantly begins to ramble on non-stop about her time at the centre. Walking back into the kitchen I feel the smile pulling at my lips as I watch her take down plates and begin to set the table. She does so without prompting for the first time in months and I know it, I can see, the way the session has provided her with a missing piece that the virus had taken from her.

All throughout dinner, despite the money matters on my mind, I hear about all the different ways she has to be careful with her body now and all of the things she can do without getting anyone sick. The relief in her voice is palpable as she details how physical contact ranges in risk level and how she's able to do a lot more than she initially thought.

"I didn't realize before how wrong I was with what I thought I knew. Did you know that I can even have _sex_, Katniss?" She whispers excitedly while calmly scooping more salad onto her plate. I nearly choke on my mouthful of food as I twist around towards her.

"Prim," I start, instantly cutting myself off because I'm really not sure _what_ I should say to that. Of course my little sister has sex. Of course that's important to her. I just – I have to stop myself from even thinking about it because I know if I do I will inevitably wind up saying something terrible and close-minded. When I finally break from my thoughts and look back to her, she's smiling sadly at me, nodding slightly.

"I think it was really good for me, Katniss." Her voice is small when she says it, her hand reaching out for mine. "I learned things that my pre-med classes didn't tell me about. Like how the treatment has changed and how medicines and viral loads can be controlled and I can live a normal life. I've spent so much time thinking things were still like they were in the eighties – I was so consumed with that that I didn't even think about anything else. These women, Katniss, they told me so much about their own experiences, about how some people just didn't think and were afraid of them because they didn't understand how everything works. It made... It made me really glad I have you here and I just, I love you, Katniss." We sit there quietly for a moment, holding hands and watching our plates with unnecessary interest. "They told me to get a dog, too," she mutters after a moment, resuming her excited tone.

We spend the rest of dinner arguing happily about getting a dog, me adamantly saying no while trying not to let her convince me with her excitable charm – the same charm that was hiding under the misconceptions that she feared about her status. Seeing the hope coming back to her is like watching the light come back into her eyes and for the first time in a long time I am able to breathe easy.

I've never been more thankful for Posi+ive than I am after dinner.

* * *

"I've got some errands to run this morning," Prim calls from the bedroom. I'm in the hallway, braiding my hair back from my face as she gets ready to go. I'm waiting for her to leave before I head out on my own to the centre to find out more about financial assistance. Though I've found a job here doing temp work, it won't be nearly enough money to pay for Prim's drugs and she's not stable enough on her meds yet to return to work.

Just two days ago she couldn't leave the bathroom because of the vomiting and diarrhea. I'd called Cinna's office, panicked as to what to do. They'd simply told me to watch and let them know if things got worse.

"Alright, you'll call me if you need anything, right? A ride? Anything?" I shout in return and move into the kitchen to grab a granola bar. Prim bounces out from the bedroom looking lively and nods.

"I'll call you, or I've got Gale's number if you don't pick up," she responds and I can't help the way my lips tighten into a line at her mention of Gale.

Gale Hawthorne and I used to be thick as thieves but when I found out a few weeks ago that he didn't tell me about my sister's condition when he picked her up from the clinic in January, I nearly tracked him down and broke his teeth. He'd betrayed me and the wound was still fresh.

"Katniss – don't hate him. I asked him not to tell you," Prim moans seeing the look on my face. I nod my head, silently promising that I'll work on getting over it even though I know I won't. "Fine. I'll be home by four."

And with that, she's disappeared out the door and is one step closer to independence. I breathe a sigh of relief and give myself ten minutes before heading down into the parking garage from our apartment and climbing into my car. The drive to the centre is uneventful with typical frustrating traffic in the morning rush. Stepping through the door, I'm surprised to see a woman at the desk instead of Peeta who I was honestly expecting.

The woman is achingly thin, her hair cropped close to her head and subtle muscles lining her lithe frame. When she meets my eyes over the edge of the desk it's more of a scowl than a smile.

"Can I help you or can I get back to my game of Tetris?" The woman sneers and clicks her mouse a few times. If I weren't already exhausted by assholes I'd have had a good comeback.

"Where's Peeta?" I ask wearily, more apt to discuss my options with him than with this snarling woman.

"He doesn't work here in the mornings – gotta pay the bills by teaching munchkins how to paint instead. What do you need?" Pulling out a pad of paper, the woman grabs a pen and looks at me expectantly.

"Oh, okay. Um. I need to talk to someone about paying for the antiretroviral drugs." I state carefully, referencing Prim's drugs.

"ARVs, huh? Well that's a tricky beast," the woman states and picks up the phone. "Haymitch – gotta customer out here for ya."

"Johanna, you know I don't take people before 11am-" Haymitch growls stepping into the hallway before seeing me standing in the lobby. I'm taken aback by his messy appearance and his dishevelled hair.

"Look, I don't make the rules old man. She wants to talk about ARV funding. Don't worry – his bark is worse than his bite." Johanna adds and then turns back to her computer. I stand there for a moment, staring down the surly man before he motions for me to follow him into his office.

"Haymitch Abernathy – counsellor. HAART right? " He asks before sitting down heavily in his chair. I stand awkwardly in the doorway for a moment before he pauses from turning on his computer to look at me. "Well, are you going to sit down so we can talk this through or what?"

"Uh, yeah. Okay." I stutter and fall into a seat on the other side of his desk. Pulling out a folder of paper, I review Cinna's notes on Prim's 'highly active antiretroviral therapy' that he told me to just call 'HAART'. Sighing audibly, I try to refresh my memory on the abbreviations and how the pills she's taking now are three treatments rolled into one to make her HAART simpler.

"For you or someone else?" He asks again, breaking into my thoughts and looking at me blankly.

"For someone else. My sister, Primrose. Her insurance says it's pre-existing because they think she was infected before her coverage started with school." The life slowly seems to come back to me as I recount all of the ways the insurance has tried to wiggle its way out from under the costs.

"Yeah those fuckers don't want to pay for anything with this disease," Haymitch adds and taps a few things onto his keyboard. "Alright – let's start with the basics. Age, length since diagnosis, current status, and we'll go from there."

The meeting overall is not positive. Though we find a few solutions, the main problem of funding is only addressed by getting Prim on waiting lists for a variety of programs. Because of her new status and the fact that she hasn't yet been diagnosed with AIDS, she doesn't qualify for Medicaid and some other state programs. Haymitch tries to sympathize but when he starts to bring up loan discussions, drug trials and other financial debt options, I begin to shut down. There's no way a bank is going to give us a loan – we've got no collateral, no co-signers, nothing.

"We're fucked," I grumble tiredly and press my fingers to my eyes. I can hear Haymitch lean back in his squeaky chair and when I look at him he's frowning.

"The good thing is that you're on the lists. You didn't wait until you didn't have anything left – that was smart. Now all you've got to do is hold out until the funding comes through. Keep doing what you're doing, try to stay afloat. The centre will help as much as it can – that's what we're here for. Now, what about your parents? Are they in the picture?" He looks like he's reluctant to talk about it, like it's normally a sore subject to bring up but he has to. I hate to confirm his reluctance.

"Dad's dead and Mum is hopeless. I'm all she's got," I mumble and it's at that exact point, at the realization that I'm all Prim has and I'm not much of anything, that brings me to the edge and I lose it. The sobs are silent, thankfully, because I can hear the ribbing that's happening in the hallway outside the room and I'd hate for people to hear me. But Haymitch sees and he doesn't move to comfort me or hold my hand and goddamn him I'm thankful for that because I can't take his pity right now.

Haymitch grows a little bit more in my eyes for not coddling me in this moment. I respect it.

"She's got one hell of a fighter on her side," is all he says before he slides a Kleenex box across the desk to me and hands me a folder with the financial forms I need to fill out and have Prim sign.

On my way out I ignore the calls of my name from Peeta behind the reception desk. I didn't realize that the day had passed so quickly and that it's already mid-afternoon when I finally escape onto the street. I'm halfway to my car when Peeta calls out again from behind me and I turn to find him standing three steps away.

"Is everything okay? Is Prim okay?" He asks carefully and takes another step closer. His hands are in his pockets again but I can see the tension carried in his shoulders and the frown lines on his forehead. I nod and brush at my damp cheeks, damning myself for crying.

"She's fine. Just other stuff," I mumble and nod again to myself before turning away and taking another few steps to my car.

"Want to come have some pasta?" He prompts again and I have to laugh at the oddity of his question. Turning back, I can't hold in the smile.

"What?" I ask and take in his infectious grin.

"Lunch – I've got some extra. Come share it, talk a bit. Keep me company." He holds out his hand and I take it carefully.

"Okay, but I've got to head home before four or else Prim will freak."

Together we head back into the centre. Once inside, Peeta grabs another chair and pulls it around behind the reception desk for me to sit in while he lands heavily in his own spinning just a little. I can't help the smile that blooms when he turns back to me after clearing off a space and handing me a plastic fork.

"So, tell me Katniss Everdeen, what's your story?" Peeta prompts as soon as we're settled. The question knocks me off balance for a moment and I stare at him, mouth agape, as he stabs some cold pasta onto his own fork. When he looks up again and sees me staring, he laughs lightly as his cheeks flare red. "Okay – maybe too forward a question. How about, what do you do?"

"Oh, um. Well, right now I'm doing temp work. I didn't get to finish my degree yet and finding something that pays the bills here is still a bit tricky. How about you? Johanna said you teach?" I reply, hastily trying to steer the conversation away from myself. I hate talking about myself, particularly about how much I'm screwing things up.

"You talked to Jo about me?" His eyes light up with mirth as he laughs, dipping his head to hide the food in his mouth as he chews.

"Well, she mentioned it when you weren't here..." My voice is small, unsure if he's laughing at me or at the idea of Johanna and I gossiping about him. Which we weren't. At all.

"Yeah, of course. No, I teach art classes to pay the bills. Didn't need a degree for that, thankfully. It's just the best – plus, I get to use all of those supplies. It's awesome. What are you studying?" I respond lightly to his questions, usually trying to steer them away from myself and onto other things. Eventually, Peeta starts to catch on and we move towards more meaningless questions like my favourite colour and whether I'm good at pinball or not.

Afterwards, as I head towards home, I realize that lunch was the easiest thing I've done in a while. I don't know what particularly it is, but Peeta is almost effortless to talk to. It's even easier once you get him talking about the kids in his art class, which he teaches at the local public school, and you get to see the light fill his eyes like nothing else.

Prim isn't home though when I get back. I start the prep on dinner and am just finishing mixing the salad when four-thirty rolls by. Sending a quick text, I try not to let the anxiety pool in my gut. When she still isn't home by five and there's no answer on my phone I give in and call Gale. He picks up on the third ring.

"Where are you?" He grunts into the phone, recognizing my number. "Why didn't you answer your phone?" I nearly drop my phone in surprise and I can't help the defensive tone from creeping into my voice as the remnants of my good mood created by my afternoon with Peeta disappear in a blip.

"What are you talking about?" I snap. "Is she with you?"

"Yes – she's napping on my couch. She tried to call you three times but you never picked up. Where were you?" He asks accusingly and I nearly snap my phone in two.

"My phone didn't ring Gale, not once. I've been home for the past two hours waiting for her. Why is she there? Is she alright?" The anger seems to dissipate as the fear overtakes me. I'm grabbing my car keys and wallet and walking out the door before he's even answered my question.

"She was dizzy out shopping. Said she couldn't reach you so I brought her here," he responds and the venom seems to lessen.

"Okay. Alright. I'm on my way; give me fifteen." I state and click the phone closed as I slide the buckle into the clasp.

I make it in ten.

"Hey, Prim," I croon as I brush her bangs off her forehead. It's a little clammy but nothing I haven't dealt with since being home. "Come on Little Duck, let's go home."

"Where were you?" she moans and curls up a little tighter. I try to ignore the accusation and the harsh stare that is affixed to me from Gale who's standing behind me. Instead I reach my hands towards her and softly pull her up into a seated position.

"I had my phone on the whole time – I don't know why it didn't ring. You know I'd never not pick up," I defend myself and go to reach for her phone. I check her outgoing calls and see my name reflected back. When I go to check my contact card, I see it still has my Portland number listed. She must have forgotten I changed it. I look to Gale sadly and show him her phone before reaching down to pick my sister up and wrap an arm around her waist.

"Here, I've got her," Gale insists and lifts her into his arms as though she's as light as a feather. We make our way down to the car and he slides her into the passenger seat carefully before buckling her up.

"Thank you for getting her, Gale." I thank him quietly as he pokes his head in the door. I see the swift nod before he shuts it and steps back onto the curb. The drive home is eerily quiet as I think about the look Gale had given me before I drove off.

Back before I'd moved to Portland, Gale had been the one I leaned on through thick and thin. We'd been together for years, both as friends and as more, before I had to leave for school – before I had to leave him behind.

The relationship hadn't quite survived the distance. We grew apart, unable to maintain a long distance connection without the everyday reassurances that we used to have. Our stubbornness and jealousy seemed to pick at us like open sores before we finally broke it off and tried to revert back to friends.

It had only sort of worked. We stayed in contact, still managed to visit one another when we were in town, and somehow we even still had that trust we'd relied on for all those years. Gale was familiar, comforting and reliable and I couldn't lose him or his family.

But I can't really forgive him for the secret he kept. Not yet anyways. I'm simply not there yet.

* * *

_AN: Have I mentioned that my beta, Opaque, is the person who is making this story possible? Her skills in not just editing my terrible grammar but also pointing out questions and angles that I don't/haven't approached fully is unbelievable. She is making this story so much better and I'm so glad to be sharing our work with you guys. Thank you for reading, thank you for reviewing, and please, come visit me on Tumblr if you have any questions - lollercakesff. Much love._


	5. Chapter 5

"Peeta was asking about you today," Prim teases in the girly girl voice that she knows always makes me scowl. She's been hinting at it for the past week that Peeta is good looking and a nice guy and that I should definitely keep him in mind. I try not to perk up at the sound of his name though, even though I want to.

"Oh yeah?" I counter, trying to be absent on purpose as I move around the kitchen.

"Mmhmm. Wanted to know if you were going to come bowling with us on Thursday." I really look at her then, finally tearing my eyes from the scrambled eggs I'm making for dinner.

"I should probably try to pick up an extra shift," I say instead of the 'yes' that I want to shout. I do want to go – I'm desperate to do something with anyone – but I really need the money in order to pay rent this month. Haymitch says we're still on the lists and that I really should think about submitting our loan application.

"Oh come on Katniss! You know you want to go! The centre is paying for everything so it won't cost you a dime. Just say you'll come. Say it!" Prim shouts and hustles into the kitchen to hug me around the waist as she begs me. I can't help but smile at her familiar actions.

"Fine, I'll go! I'll go!" I concede. "Let me finish the eggs in peace!"

"Ah! I can't wait to tell Peeta tomorrow, he is going to be so excited!" I quickly look at her then, a small amount of horror on my face.

"What? You will not!" I shout, desperate to avoid the awkwardness that would come with _that_ interaction.

"I will! And he'll be happy! Trust me Katniss, he's a good guy! We've known him for almost three months now! He's great and he loves that you're so involved!" Prim practically sings as she dances around the kitchen with our plates as though she's in some fairytale. I have to pause – I've been home for almost four months? The realization nearly knocks me on my ass.

I should be going back to school soon. Hell, I don't even know if I've filed my withdrawal. There's so many things that I've left untied back in Portland and it seems to kick me in the gut all at once. Prim seems to notice it too throughout dinner as she takes in my reserved behaviour.

"I'm sorry you had to come back here, Katniss," She whispers at the end of the meal, almost to only her plate. The quiet apology nearly guts me as my head snaps up to look at her.

"Don't you ever apologize for that. I came back here because you needed me – I'll always help you when you need me, do you hear? You are the most important thing to me Prim – ever. _Ever_." I reaffirm just in case she missed it the first time.

My regret isn't about not going back – it's about not remembering all of my responsibilities. I've got so much to do and I've forgotten all of it and now I'll need to take a day to try to get everything in order. A day without work. And I've got to find somewhere with a computer and internet. Maybe a fax machine.

On top of all that, the concerns about Prim's next appointment come barreling in like a bull in a china shop. At her next appointment she'll be sent for more tests and more tests mean more numbers that I still don't have a handle on. We'll also hear how she's responding to treatment – what if it isn't working? – how do we adjust again? I can't help but feel the anxiety closing in as I start to remember all of the things I need to read up on to help track her treatment.

These reminders carry me all the way through my evening shower and to my room as I pull on my pyjamas and lay in bed restlessly for an hour. My chest feels heavy with the weight of everything I need to do and I find myself tossing and turning until exhaustion finally begins to take over. I fall asleep with the thoughts racing through my head slowly disappearing and turning into dreams that haunt my waking hours.

* * *

It's early morning when I pick up the phone to call the centre to ask for my biggest favour yet. I hang it up, chickening out, _again_. My hands shake minutely as I slide the phone along the wooden surface some more.

They've helped me so much since walking through their doors that I'm starting to feel bad for not giving back. I just wished I had the time – with trying to work as much as I can and taking care of Prim when I'm home, it seems like I've barely got enough time to sleep let alone volunteer.

That's why when I walk in on Tuesday morning and see Johanna with her feet up on the desk I try to put on my best bargaining face.

"I'm willing to trade anything for use of a computer, some internet, and a fax machine," I mumble as I lean on the reception desk. Johanna lets out a bark of laughter as she looks me over.

"Anything eh? Well, we've got a lot of folks 'round here who've traded things and regretted it so let's just call it even that you don't make a mess that I'll have to clean later?"

"I feel bad though that you guys help us with anything and I haven't given anything back," I argue and stand up a little taller. Johanna just smirks.

"Well you've made our afternoon receptionist a little brighter, how about that for payment?" She jokes and I scowl. I've done nothing of the sort. "Look," She tries again and leans forward. "We're here to help. We get it that you need to work and that not everyone has time to volunteer. It's not the business of trade we're in so just do what you need to do and stop feeling guilty, okay? It's wasted energy."

I look at her carefully and measure her words, weighing them for value and honesty. She doesn't break a smile, not once, proving that she's at least a really good actress or telling the truth.

"Okay – where can I get settled?" I ask hesitantly and pull out a thick folder of things I need to deal with.

I spend a few hours sitting at the computer, sorting through the school's website and trying to figure out how to postpone my next semester which only leads me to how to take online courses. I consider it but then see the price tag and refocus on trying to get out of my program. After I've faxed on my letter – Johanna had to hit the send button for me – I move on to settling my lease with Madge who's come to terms with the fact that I won't be back.

By the time I work around to settling out all of my local accounts, Johanna is about to head out the door because Peeta's arrived for the afternoon shift.

Where normally his face is bright with mirth, today it's so clouded that even Johanna doesn't joke with him. When he spots me sitting at the computer over the desk, he smiles sadly and drops his stuff under the desk.

"Hey," he mumbles and flips through the log book reading the days entries. He doesn't say anything more before heading into the back and entering one of the offices. On his way by though, I notice that his hand is wrapped up in thick white bandages and I have to stop to think about what has happened to make his day so miserable.

I'm just about to finish with the computer when a young girl walks in and towards the reception desk. I sit up straighter and look around desperately for Peeta, completely unsure of what to do. With no one in sight, I look over and smile brightly hoping I can at least delay her until someone comes to my rescue.

"Hi, can I help you?" I ask evenly and flick my eyes down the hallway. The little girl returns my smile and shifts nervously on her feet.

"I'm supposed to meet a – " She pauses and looks at her hand where something is scribbled in black ink. "Effie – Effie Trinket. She's my counsellor, I think." The girl states and I see the flush below her dark skin. With one last desperate look down the hallway, I scoot out from around the desk.

"Let me just see if I can find her," I mumble and slip down the line of doors until I find one with the light on. Knocking quickly, I poke my head past the door to find Haymitch sitting at his desk, Peeta across from him with his head in his hands. I can't help but feel like I've intruded on something private. "I'm uh – sorry, I don't – there's someone here looking for Effie?" I struggle to state.

"Goddamn that woman," Haymitch growls and gets to his feet slowly. When he steps past Peeta he gently squeezes his shoulder before moving past me and towards the front office.

I stand there silently for another moment, unsure of whether to do something or apologize again for interrupting. When still Peeta doesn't move to get up, I shift on my feet and look at my toes.

"I'm here, if you need anything," I mumble pathetically hoping to provide any type of reassurance to this man who's always been so kind to me. After a moment with no answer, I slip back out into the hallway and collect my bag from the front desk before heading out the door with the memory of Peeta's sad smile burnt into my mind.

* * *

I can't get the picture of Peeta in Haymitch's office out of my head. It clouds my thoughts and only seems to add to my worries, mingling in with the rent that's due and the degree that I won't finish.

Later that night, sometime between when I burn the pasta and blow the sauce all over the microwave, I ask Prim to check in on him the next day when she returns a book. She gives me a curious look, the words poised on her tongue, but says nothing as she hands me the paper towel.

* * *

"He was fine, will you stop giving me that look now?" Prim asks, poking her head into the refrigerator and looking for food we don't have.

"What are you talking about? What look?" I counter as I turn towards her from my place at the table.

"Uh, you know the one. It's the same one you give me every time we go to the doctors, like you're worried something horrendous is going to happen. You're such a worry wart Katniss." Hundreds of come backs come to me in that moment, defenses for my behaviour and smart words to snap back at her, but none of them seem important right now. She's right. I do worry. I have reasons to worry.

"Okay. Fine," I relent and turn back to the job applications I've sprawled across the table.

"You're giving up?" Prim asks, her voice high with surprise as she closes the refrigerator door and swings towards me. "What's going on? That comment should have riled you up!"

"Nothing, Duck. Just tired." I hear her footsteps come towards me, feel her body standing behind me as she bites down on whatever snack she's found.

"He really did look okay today; I'd tell you if he didn't." She says quietly and waits for my nod before patting me on the shoulder and retreating to her room. I sit there for another hour, scrawling in my underwhelming qualifications before retiring to my own room and trying to block out everything else going on.

* * *

_AN: Hi all! I hope everyone is having a great break (if you get one). Currently we're experiencing a crazy ice storm and there might be rolling power outages but oh well! Tis the season! I hope you and yours are all well and that you enjoy this chapter. Thank you again to my lovely Opaque who is keeping me sane on writing during my 60 hour work weeks. Much love to all of you who read and review!_


	6. Chapter 6

When Thursday night rolls around I'm reluctant to keep my promise about going bowling with the centre. Though Prim wants me to go, I'm nervous about seeing Peeta for the first time since I interrupted his meeting with Haymitch. Honestly, I'm not too sure he would even want me there after I barged in on whatever private moment that was happening.

But Prim won't dare let me skip out no matter which excuse I give.

So that night I find myself tied into red and blue bowling shoes as I grip a small hand-sized ball at the top of the lane. I'm just about to let loose my ball when out of nowhere Peeta slides down the lane next to mine and let's loose a howl and his own miniature ball. It sails down the lane, off the bumpers, and into the pins at the end. I can't help the laugh that escapes me as he gets back to his feet and grins wickedly in my direction.

"Come on Everdeen, toss the ball!" He riles and steps into my lane, stalking me until I toss it to a perfect strike. I hop around with excitement at my first real round and turn to Peeta who smirks at me as though nothing had happened. "No fair, you've got two working hands!" Peeta laughs and holds up his palms towards me.

"Ha, nice try Mellark but the ball only takes one hand to throw!" I reply and saunter away back to my team. I settle down onto our bench, making faces at Peeta in between joining the conversation that's happening around our corral.

"I'm telling you, _Ghostbusters_ was a legit film and anyone who disagrees just hasn't watched it carefully!" Thresh, a thick-rimmed glasses-wearing, 22-year-old film student with dark skin, argues aloud, tossing his hands up in exasperation.

"Wait, Thresh, _who _exactly is telling you _Ghostbusters_ wasn't good?" I interrupt before his hand gestures get too carried away.

"Ugh, just Marvel, the little tweaker – "

"Hey, Thresh man, come on, you know the rules," Peeta interrupts, leaning over the bench towards Thresh as he motions to the rail-thin kid who's wandering towards the head of our lane with his ball in hand.

"Aw, Peet – "

"No. Everyone here gets treated the same way we want to be treated. No exceptions," Peeta insists over Thresh's protests. Beside me, Rue, the girl I met at the reception from the other day, giggles into her palm before getting to her feet and motioning for Prim to abandon their team and join her in some type of shenanigans over in the game room.

"You're up," Marvel mumbles, returning to our corral and calling out to Thresh before crashing onto the bench. I catch Peeta's eye and he gives me a look of confusion at the moment that's just past between the group before getting up to help a frail looking girl with pale skin named Annie with her technique.

Without meaning to, I find myself watching Peeta as he jokes with the girl who can't be much younger than us, offering her different coloured bowling ball options until she gives in and cracks a wide and beautiful smile. Observing the exchange, I can't help but wonder what the story is there.

Or if there's anything going on between them.

"Everdeen, you're up!" Thresh shouts, breaking into my thoughts and thankfully distracting me from a path I don't want to continue on.

The rest of the game carries on with much cajoling and riling. Despite the fact that Peeta and I are clearly the oldest ones in attendance give or take a few years for some, it doesn't seem to matter much as the kids hoot and holler their way to higher scores. When it finally comes down to it, Peeta's team takes the win as Prim throws her third strike of the game, knocking us out by almost thirty points.

Afterwards we all pile into the centre's unmarked van and head back for a quick bite before heading home. The drive back is loud and full of excitement as the kids in the back joke and laugh, clearly enjoying the presence of one another. It's only when we pull into the parking lot and I'm about to slip out the passenger door that Peeta reaches over and taps my shoulder.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" He asks hesitantly, withdrawing his hand and resting it between his knees under the wheel. I notice then that he rarely extends contact longer than necessary every time, often finding ways to put his hands somewhere protected.

"Yeah, sure," I reply and slip my legs back into the van until I'm staring out at the brick wall before us. Prim casts a second glance at me, a small smile on her lips, before she heads into the centre with the rest of the kids. I'm the first to break the silence, sure that I know what's coming. "Look – Peeta, I'm sorry I just barged in the other day. It was rude and inconsiderate and I'm sorry," I stutter and meet his eyes, trying to plead with him silently.

I don't expect the small smile that graces his lips or the shake of his head.

"Katniss, don't worry about that. I was having a bad day. I did want to ask you though, if, well... If you meant it?" He seems hesitant to ask, almost as if he's nervous I'll say no.

"I mean what I say – I'm here if you need to talk or anything. I may not know what to say, or what _not_ to say, but sometimes I can shut up and listen," I joke lightly and shake my head, realizing that I'm rambling. Peeta only laughs lightly and shifts in his seat until he's looking at me.

"Want to get lunch on Monday?" He asks. I pause, considering the offer and trying to remember my schedule. I don't see any reason why not – Peeta's a great guy. He's funny, kind, and refreshing to be around. Maybe I was imagining that thing with Annie?

_Stop it, Katniss_, I scold myself internally. "Yeah, that sounds nice." I answer instead, nodding my head. His smile only seems to multiply as he watches me.

"Great. That's awesome," he whispers and leans over, resting his uninjured hand on mine momentarily. As quick as it came, it goes, as Peeta climbs out of the van and rushes over to help me down from the high step.

The rest of the night goes quickly as the group slowly starts to disperse over the hours. When I find Prim passed out among the cushions of the couch, I nod to Peeta and say a quiet goodnight before rousing her and leading her out to the car. Her sleepiness doesn't stop her from teasing me about my private interlude with Peeta in the van.

"He _likes_ you. Oh, he does!" Prim mumbles as I slide her into the car and head towards home. Her jibs can't do a thing to wipe the smile from my lips.

* * *

I work most of the weekend, only taking Saturday night off to do laundry and finish up some paperwork. I try to ignore the pile of bills on the corner table as I watch the fuzzy nightly news play out before me.

When Monday finally rolls around, I'm more nervous than excited for my lunch with Peeta. I'm not really sure what it is – whether it's a date or just two people having a meal together. Pulling up to the centre though all of my nerves seem to dissipate as I find comfort in the familiarity of place.

But lunch time comes and goes and soon it's three in the afternoon and still no Peeta. Johanna long ago left, asking me to cover reception until Peeta got here, only he never showed up. I'm only just beginning to start to worry when Haymitch stumbles out from the back room and notices it's me and not Peeta.

"Where's the boy?" He slurs and leans heavily against the desk. I shake my head and shuffle the papers around.

"Not sure – he was supposed to meet me for lunch," I admit sadly as I look out the window.

"No message?" Haymitch continues and I shake my head slowly.

"We didn't really do the number exchange part..." I mutter lowly. Haymitch only frowns before nodding and heading back to his office with a grunt.

At four thirty when the official closing time of the centre rolls around, Haymitch sends me home and tells me not to worry about it, something came up. I try not to take it personally but I can't help the feeling that maybe he's avoiding me – that maybe I've done something to disappoint him or that this was all a mistake in the first place.

Returning home to Prim, she hassles me from the doorway to tell her every detail, every topic of our conversation so that she can analyze it and tell me just how perfect we are for each other.

"He didn't even show up!" I snap finally, uncharacteristically lashing out at her to ease my wounded pride. I barely see Prim's startled gaze before I close the door to my room and lock myself away for the night.

* * *

_AN: You know, it's amazing the feedback I'm getting from you guys. Seriously, you make writing so worth it because your comments are wonderful and cheer me up so much. I just want to talk about everything with you (even if I can't answer your questions yet!) Also, my beta Opaque is so so so good to me. She keeps me on track and helps get the story from my jumbled mind to you guys to read, so love her too because she's working just as hard at this to make it enjoyable. Love you all, so much._


	7. Chapter 7

Prim tells me on Tuesday that Peeta's alright. She says she knows because at the centre if they think you need a check in, someone will stop by your home and see how you're doing.

"In fact," Prim starts, sitting on the couch and chewing on a piece of celery and peanut butter "Haymitch went over himself on Monday night to talk to him. Told me not to worry and to let you know it didn't have anything to do with you. And that Peeta was sorry for bailing."

I don't really listen, instead choosing to be disappointed and aloof for the rest of the day.

When Thursday rolls around and Prim tells me Johanna is leading the Outing Night instead of Peeta, I can't help but perk up. For Peeta to miss that commitment I know is big since he seems to really value his time with the group. I can't help but worry about what's going on – about what's happened – since I saw him in Haymitch's office a few days ago.

It's that same concern that drives me to the centre on Friday afternoon.

"Katniss Everdeen!" Finnick's voice calls when I step through the main door, the bluster of wind blowing the loose hair around my face and distracting me so that he catches me off guard, "What brings you here today?"

I finally look up from myself and meet Annie's striking green eyes as she stares at me from not a foot away.

"Can I help you with your coat?" she asks quietly, reaching her hand out. Confused, I hand it to her and try to orient myself to the situation at hand.

"I'm here to um... Talk to Haymitch," I try, attempting to sound casual. I consider for a moment asking Finnick for the information I need, but figure it would likely come with less questions if I stick with my original plan. Before me, Finnick grins broadly as he steps towards Annie and pulls her to his chest tightly. She lets out a laugh, surprising me with its fullness and the lightness that seems to come to her with his touch.

"Really? You sure there's nothing we can help you with?" he offers with a wink and a heaping of charm despite the way his hand slips to clasp Annie's. The way Annie looks up at him in that moment, I can't help but smile at the ridiculousness of myself as I realize I was totally off-base at bowling last week.

"I'm sure. Just looking for – "

"Girl, I wasn't expecting you here today..." Haymitch interrupts, stepping out from his office into the hallway. Finnick and Annie disappear into the outreach room without a word leaving me standing alone facing the slightly-intoxicated man who has the information I want.

That I _need_.

"No appointment, but I was hoping you could fit me in quickly? I was hoping you could help me out with something." He nods and I follow him into his office, shutting the door quietly and taking a seat before rambling out the entire story in one long breath to him. "Haymitch, I just want to talk to him," I find myself pleading, sitting in the chair across from him as he scowls at me.

"You know I can't give out his private information like this," Haymitch replies sounding sour. Inwardly I sigh, trying not to display my exasperation, but really I just want to ring his neck.

"Could you call him? Or, do anything to help me? Take me there?" It's my last ditch attempt and something, somewhere, seems to tip the scales as Haymitch sighs heavily and spins in his chair until he's facing the wall away from me.

"Get your bag. You're driving," he grumbles as he pulls down his jacket and throws it on heavily. I spring to my feet, my blood pumping through my veins, thrilled that my plan has worked. Together, Haymitch and I make towards my car in silence, a weird vibe filling the air between us.

Though it's not far from the centre, the part of town that Peeta lives in is less than desirable. It's easy to tell by the ramshackle alleyways and the increasing levels of street life I see as we pass by. It also doesn't help that lining every corner is a convenience store partnered with what looks to be a rundown liquor store with dirt caked into its spackle. It's nothing I haven't seen before, but I have to wonder how a teacher lives down here full time. It doesn't seem fitting.

When Haymitch grunts announcing our arrival, I park my car and get out the driver's side and look over at Haymitch who's pulling himself free from the belt.

"If you're not back in five, I'll assume he hasn't kicked your ass out yet and I'll head back in a cab. If he's pissed though, you leave. Deal?" Haymitch instructs, his hand running through his hair before scrubbing his face. I nod my agreement and turn towards the building he points out, looking it up and down carefully. After a moment, I take off, walking up the steps and to the murky bell sign on the apartment door. Checking the listings I find Peeta's name on the top floor of the three storey high building and push my way through the propped door. Taking the stairs, I make quick time of finding the entrance to his apartment and I knock, scanning the area around me for any trace of him. After the first minute, I knock again. And then again. And again until I finally hear someone shout from the other side.

"Dammit I'm coming!" The voice calls out as footsteps move towards the heavy steel. When Peeta swings back the heavy metal and I take in the sight of his paint spattered clothes, I have to suck in a breath to keep my footing. "What are you doing here?" He asks blankly and looks around behind me before pulling me inside his apartment roughly. "You shouldn't be here alone."

I can only stare at him uncomprehendingly as he scolds me for coming down to his neighbourhood. I want to tell him that's silly, that it's daylight and Haymitch brought me, but I don't. Instead I look beyond his imposing figure to the neatly kept loft apartment that's filled with paintings and old furniture in various states of disrepair. I'm brought out of my trance when his hand lands on my shoulder and he squeezes it lightly.

"Katniss – what are you doing here?" he asks quietly. I take in the sight of his still bandaged hand and his pale complexion.

"Are you alright? I was worried – we're all worried – I convinced Haymitch to bring me here because I wanted to see you and make sure you were okay." I state carefully. I take his bandaged hand up in mine but he pulls it back quickly, tucking it behind him.

"I'm fine. Haymitch said I was fine, didn't he? He shouldn't have brought you here." He sounds annoyed as he says it – as though people being concerned for him is tiresome. Normally I'd scoff along with him, but this time I'm the one on the worried end.

"He did, but that doesn't explain why you're distancing yourself. What's going on that you can't talk about? Why aren't you working at the centre?" I don't want to push him too much, but from the time I've met him he's always been reliable and open – this person before me doesn't make sense.

"I've had other things on my mind is all," Peeta states and he steps back, turning to walk back to the canvas he has propped on an easel across the room. Before I can get a good look, he's thrown a stained sheet over it as well as a few other pieces next to it. "Can I get you anything to drink?" He asks, moving into the kitchen and rinsing off his hands.

"No, I'm alright," I reply lowly and linger in the doorway, still unsure if I should come into the apartment or not. When Peeta turns back around though, he's watching me carefully as though trying to find a lie.

"Why are you here though? Really?" He asks again and sips at his glass of water. I wet my lips at the sight and look away momentarily, summoning my courage.

"It just seems out of character for you, to be avoiding everything like you have. I was worried, especially when you didn't meet me for lunch. You know you can tell me anything, right?" I remind him, recalling the Thursday prior. It's silent for a long while as he finishes his water and returns his glass to the sink.

"I'd really rather not," he says after a while. The tone in his voice bothers me – it's not the light one I'm used to hearing – but I know I should respect his boundaries. Besides, we haven't known each other for that long. Maybe I'm reading this all wrong. Maybe this is just what he does from time to time. Maybe that's why Haymitch is probably still downstairs kicking my tires waiting for me to get thrown out of here. There's no way he needs to trust me with whatever is bothering him. What have I even done to prove that I can be there for him with his secrets?

"Okay then..." I pause and look between the door and him again. "I just – can I use your washroom quickly? I have to make a few stops before home and so…

"Yeah, no yeah, sure. It's just around here." He nods and motions his arm down the hallway and towards what appears to be the open area where he sleeps. I try not to gape at the wide view as I pass by but it's hard – Peeta's loft is tasteful and I can't help but stare out his windows and at the intricate brick facade that is the walls. Finding my way into the bathroom, I make quick work of my needs and am standing at the sink looking for the soap when I see the cabinet overhead. Reaching up, my slick fingers pull at the edge until it slips open, shaking loose a host of prescription bottles that come tumbling out all at once.

"Shit!" I hiss and try to gather them up quickly and place them back in the cupboard. "Shit shit shit!" I try to return them properly but I don't know where they've fallen from or which row they go on. I'm just about finished reading another bottle's label when it clicks in my head.

These are ARV's. Peeta is on an HAART plan. Peeta's HIV positive.

* * *

_AN: So there you have it. I promise chapter 8 isn't far away. Just an fyi, I'm starting up a part-time school thing again along with my full-time job and a host of travel things in the near future. I hope to keep up with this story but fear not if I disappear for a bit, I'll do my best to keep up. I love you guys and if you have any questions, ask! Opaque and I are here to help!_


	8. Chapter 8

The realization rocks me. I hadn't assumed – I hadn't even thought about it – not once. But then I remember where I met him and why he must volunteer there and it all seems to click into place. I try to slow my heart through the pounding in my ears, gripping my hands around the sink while I focus on how this isn't a big deal.

How Peeta isn't one bit different from a moment ago.

But when I close the cabinet door I notice my hands are shaking. Making my way back down the hall, I clasp my hands together and head for the door hoping to make a quick exit to give me time to settle down.

"I'm sorry – did you want to stay for a bit?" Peeta asks just as I'm rounding back towards the kitchen. He must notice the startled look on my face that I'm desperately trying to hide because, though I didn't think it was possible, his face goes a shade paler than before.

"No, Peeta I'm sorry. I shouldn't have just barged in here. I'll go," I attempt hastily and step closer to the door. My hand makes contact with the cool steel just as he calls out again.

"Katniss." There's a tired note in his voice. I hope he doesn't hate me for what I've discovered. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

Swinging back around I stare at him, mouth agape.

"Don't apologize!" I shout tactlessly. Peeta frowns and sets his hands calmly on the counter, his gaze never leaving mine. "I shouldn't have – you didn't need to tell me. It's your life and you would have told me when you were ready, if you wanted to. I get it – I'm just sorry I don't-" I gasp for a breath, struggling to get air in between my rushing thoughts. I'm not angry – I'm not really sure what I'm feeling.

"Katniss, I can tell by the look on your face that you clearly didn't come expecting this. Do you want to sit and talk about it?" He tries and I shake my head while my mouth utters a yes. Even my brain doesn't know what's going on. Peeta only smiles sadly.

"Yes," I state more clearly. "But only if you want to. It's fine, I can go and we can talk another time if you want to. Please don't hate me for - " The words falling out of me stop instantly when he walks towards me and stops within arm's reach. Though he doesn't touch me, I can see that his hand wants to reach out towards me.

"Katniss, it's fine. Seriously. Let's sit and talk, okay?" His voice is soothing now and I'm bothered by the fact that even though I came here to help him, he's now the one coddling me all because I invaded his privacy. That doesn't stop him though from leading me towards a beat up couch as he pulls up an old rocking chair. We sit in silence, staring at each other, until Peeta lets out a sigh. "I was a user," he states blankly. I bite my lip and meet his eyes, holding up my hand slowly.

"You don't have to tell me this," I try to reassure him one last time, just in case he feels cornered. He only smiles and shakes his head.

"I used to be an addict. Used to be," he laughs weakly and shifts. "Once you are, you are, I guess. That's how – that's why I'm positive." He twists his hand about his wrist, rubbing the skin red while his eyes flicker between me and the window. I want to take his hand, to tell him that I'm listening, but I don't. I don't move. It's all so much to digest that I'm trying to focus on not passing out. "I've been clean since my diagnosis, about five years now. I went to rehab, got on the program and started getting the treatment. My older brother Rye has pretty much been my lifeline, unlike the rest of my family. He got me help, set me up here and helps me make ends meet when money is tight. I think that's why I admired you from the start, because you were so like him for Prim," he adds almost wistfully as he stares out the window.

I still can't move. Though the shock is beginning to wane, it's just getting through my mind that Peeta is in recovery as well. Staring at him, I try to see it. My mind flickers back to visions of _Requiem for a Dream_ and Jared Leto and internally I shudder – Peeta doesn't look like anything from that movie. His features are strong, his eyes a bright, clear blue and his complexion is smooth. Every addict I've seen looks jagged and a wreck – far beyond saving – but Peeta looks whole. Maybe that's why I'm surprised? Maybe his blond curls and broad shoulders have hidden his past demons with the guise of attractiveness. I smile a bit to myself at the thought of Peeta coming into who he is now, someone who looks strong and confident and well, after his addiction and his diagnosis.

"I think I respect you even more right now," I blurt out, surprising even myself. I don't miss Peeta's small frown as he looks at me again.

"What? Why?"

"I – Uh, well. When I first came into the centre, you just seemed to have it all together. And now – well, now knowing, and uh –" I pause and try to gather my thoughts, if only to stop this annoying stuttering thing I've got going on right now. "You didn't hate me for the way I reacted with the needle exchange!" I finish sharply and bite my thumb reflexively.

The memory comes rushing back to me – the way I'd recoiled and almost been ashamed to be associated with needing a needle exchange program. Peeta hadn't even really batted an eye at my judgemental reaction even though he could have, considering everything.

Tuning back in, I see that he's laughing lightly and is leaning forward in the rocking chair.

"I could never hate you," he states softly after a moment, the laughing stopped. The words make my breath seem to get caught up in my chest and I have to force it out in a huff before I can meet his eyes.

"I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say," I add lamely and shift in my seat. Peeta rocks back and relaxes into his chair, sighing heavily.

"I was going to tell you soon, I just...wasn't sure yet." I nod because that's really all I can do, unsure of what questions I can ask and what ones I shouldn't. But then I remember why I'm here and curiosity seems to get the better of me.

"What's happened lately, to change things, if you don't mind me asking?" I ask quietly and sit forward on the couch until my knees are nearly touching his. Watching him, I notice his shoulders tense before he looks down at his bandaged hand with disdain.

"I got fired on Monday," he mumbles and gets up to pace, leaving me leaning towards an empty chair.

"What! Why?" I gasp, the shock of it running through me. I know how much Peeta loves his job – I can't imagine him doing anything to get in trouble at work. It's just unfathomable. "I don't get it – that doesn't make any sense!"

Peeta moves slowly around his apartment, pacing the space like a caged animal as I rant on his behalf. I'm surprised he's not more angry, to be honest. But then Peeta's never been one for anger in the time I've known him.

When still after a moment he hasn't told me why, I move to where he's paused at the edge of the room, staring out the window. As soon as my hand touches his forearm he slinks back, a hard look filling his features.

"Don't! It's not safe!" he hisses and I recoil instinctively. The look in his eyes is far away, as if he was picturing something else entirely. Though I know he wouldn't hurt me, I also know that I've forced too many private things into the open today and maybe whatever has happened is reoccurring because of me. I'm pushing his limits. Realizing this, I step back and nod, turning to leave.

"Okay – I understand. I'll see you-"

"Katniss, wait," he calls out, interrupting me as I stand once again with my hand on the door. His voice has changed again. The hard edge is gone and his tone is beseeching. This time he's still near the window, the light from outside cascading around him only emphasizing the look of a fallen angel. I wish I could see his face, just to know what he's thinking now. "I just – only Haymitch knows. I don't want the whole centre finding out," he adds sadly.

A moment happens and I'm eager to run – either towards him or away, I'm not too sure – so instead I stay rooted to my spot, seemingly drawn to this man. When he finally laments the truth, my insides coil with disgust. "We were working on making stamps in class – you know the ones where you have to carve out the patterns? I was working on my example last Tuesday when I cut my hand," he holds up his bandaged hand and smiles sadly.

"Well, I needed stitches and I made a pretty good mess of the classroom. When one of the students got another teacher to help I might have overreacted. They started to try to clean up my mess without gloves and I got so scared. I tried to get them to stop but they wouldn't so I just – I just blurted it out." I get it then. Nobody at Peeta's work knew his status. They didn't understand they needed to be careful. Or that they should always be careful, no matter whom it is. "I guess one of the kids heard. Talked to their parents or something. There was a big meeting on Monday about it with the parents and the admin. They called me in after and told me my lack of disclosure was problematic and that the parents had serious issues with my 'teaching methods', I think they called it."

I stand there dumbfounded with a roiling anger in my gut. How _dare_ they fire him for this? It's unbelievable. It's horrible.

And then it hits me like a wallop to the chest.

This is life after diagnosis. This is life with the social stigma of HIV.

I don't stop myself when I have the urge to move forward, wrapping my arms around him and giving him a bone crushing hug – the ones I reserve solely for Prim. Instead I focus on keeping the angry tears at bay as I squeeze tighter around his waist.

"That's not fair – isn't it illegal? We can fight this Peeta – I'll help. We'll all help!" I repeat, mumbling into his shirt. Through my haze of frustration and my jumble of reassurances I almost miss his low laugh and the whispered words that fall from his lips.

"I didn't think _this_ would be the reason I first got to hold you," is all he says.

I don't know whether to ignore it, whether I was supposed to hear it or not, so I just stay quiet and cling to him as he moves us until we're sitting on the couch again. Finally seated, he pulls back until we're facing off against each other on other sides of the couch. I wonder why all of a sudden he's put this distance between us but I try to ignore it. If he wants space, that's okay.

I have to keep reminding myself that it's okay because no matter how much I'm convinced that I subconsciously knew this, the whole shock of his status, of everything, is probably something I should have been prepared for. I guess I just wasn't ready for how I would feel when I found out.

"Are you going to fight for your job?" I ask quietly, hesitant to bring it up since it obviously causes his emotions to rise. He shakes his head as his eyes sink to his clasped hands.

"No, I don't think so. It's probably for the best," he tries lamely though I hear the note of sadness in his voice.

"What do you mean it's for the best? You love that job – you told me so yourself." My words come out more abruptly than I intend and I have to scold myself inwardly.

"It's just – it's dangerous. What if one of the kids had tried to help and I lashed out at them? Or worse, what if... What if they were exposed to it?" He finishes with a harsh whisper and I watch as he scowls angrily out the window. I'm surprised to hear these words from his mouth.

If I were to be honest, I'd say that I was likely guilty of putting Peeta up on a pedestal in terms of his openness and accepting qualities. It's these words then that shed a shadow upon his perch and remind me that no matter how good he is, he still must face his own personal demons on the virus as well. Like so many others I've read about, or heard Prim talk about, Peeta is dealing with the acceptance of his illness and will always be dealing with it.

"That isn't going to happen," I reassure him, leaning forward and placing my hand upon his foot. He withdraws it gently, his eyes averted. "Why do you do that?" I prompt, my words cautious again. His eyes don't meet mine when his shoulders lift in a non-responsive shrug at the question. I have to leave it alone, at least for today.

Together we sit there quietly, time passing steadily as we both let our minds process the day's events. Neither of us push for more words, comfortable in the silence between us. When the sun finally begins to sink low in the sky, I meet his gaze and offer a small smile.

"I guess I should get going," I mumble. Shifting and letting my feet hit the ground, I stretch my arms up and groan with the change in position. Peeta follows me to the door and I hear an audible yawn escape from him. "I'm sorry I just barged over here. I just wanted to mean what I said about being here if you needed anything," I apologize as my hand lingers on the door. I feel Peeta pull the door open further and hear the audible sounds of him slipping his shoes on. Turning to him, I frown in confusion. "What are you doing?"

"I'm walking you to your car. It's a dangerous neighbourhood, especially at night," he replies and shuffles until we're both outside his apartment and he's locking his door.

Together we walk down the stairs and towards my car in relative silence, our minds pre-occupied and no Haymitch in sight. When we reach my car I walk to the driver's side only to be surprised when Peeta's bandaged hand holds it closed as I try to open it. I look up at him, brow furrowed.

"Look, Katniss, I'm sorry I've been such an ass today and all this week, really. I just, I don't really know what I'm going to do yet. I just – I know that – " I listen as he grumbles and presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. Without thinking better of it, I reach out and rest my hand over his and squeeze. To my surprise and his as well it seems, he doesn't shake me off but instead pulls my palm to his cheek. "I know that I'm glad you came by today. Even if I didn't act like it."

I think I blink at his actions, too surprised to get out a sentence. We must stand there for a while though before someone down the street from us makes a cat call and has me startled back to reality.

"Peeta, I meant it when I said I'm here, okay? Come back to the centre and we'll help you – isn't that what you said that place is there for?" I joke lightly. I know I need to withdraw my hand at some point in order to get in my car, but I can't help the way I revel in the feeling of my fingers pressed to his stubbled cheek.

"Thank you," he murmurs and at last let's my hand drop, his own pulling open the door and ushering me into my car. "See you later," he adds, bending at the waist and leaning towards me as I sit in the driver's seat. For a moment I think he's going to kiss me – that he's going to press those lips to mine and make a move - but he doesn't. Seeming to think better of it he grins and pulls back, shutting the door gently and tapping the roof with his goodbye.

As I drive off down the street I glance in the rear view mirror, catching him standing in the road and watching me drive away with a small smile lifting the corner of his lips.

* * *

_AN: So, fun fact: I've actually been in informal quarentine these last two days for a gastro thing. It's been horrible. And by horrible, I mean gross with a touch of all the napping I can get. You should give me a virtual high five since I finally kept some crackers in me today! Hurray! Anyways, I'm posting this up because life is crazy and the bump in my ego I got from Opaque today was very much a highlight. Hope you enjoy. Much love, lollercakes_


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